


Same Logic

by something_safe



Category: Basic Instinct, Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Adam Towers is basically an OC because he's in that movie for all of ten seconds, Gay Sex, M/M, Mentions of alcohol or drug use, NSFW, Nigel says fuck a lot, One Night Stands, Porn, Sex, bad attitudes all round, blow jobs and all that good stuff, hook ups, mentions of past trauma, mentions of physical attacks, porn without plot 200 per cent, vaguely homophobic rhetoric (internalised homophobia) if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 11:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_safe/pseuds/something_safe
Summary: Nigel survives, and finds himself thriving in the London club scene years after his run in with Charlie and his fucking ex-wife. One night, he meets another survivor, the asinine but compelling Adam Towers. They get on, as long as they don’t talk too much.Or: What if Nigel and Adam Towers hooked up after a chance encounter in a bathroom? Why the fuck not.





	Same Logic

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little tumblr fic in response to uh, this super hot manip ( https://h4nnibalism.tumblr.com/post/165798883046/ladyslice-happy-fannibal-appreciation-day) . It's just for fun and was very hastily written so sorry if the characters are wobbly.
> 
> Title song is 'Same Logic/ Teeth' by Brand New, which encapsulates them pretty well.

> " _But you're no tailor, you're no surgeon, none of your cuts go very straight,_
> 
> _Every new layer you uncover reveals something else you hate,_  
>  _And then you cracked your head, and broke some bones,_  
>  _And when you glued them back together you found out you did it wrong._  
>   
>  _Well this is the same logic that got us into trouble the first time_ _(when we discovered we could use),_  
>  _The same logic..._ _to get us out of trouble,_  
>  _And shake off all the people we abuse..." - '_ Same Logic/ Teeth', Brand New

 *

Nigel has become something of a commodity since he relocated. London is big, and ugly, and British business is the kind that he dislikes – tedious – but it is constant.

Nigel often finds that he frightens people, and he’s okay with that. Frightening people in London is much easier than it was back at home- at home, every cunt has a gun, every cunt knows how to make a bomb, and every cunt wants to stay alive as long as they fucking can.

In London, there’s a bit less of all that. Here, if you can supply drugs and you’re even vaguely threatening, you can pretty much settle down. Spend some time getting your head back together, physically and literally.

Plus the plastic surgeons here are pretty good.

Nigel peeks at himself in the mirror of the sleek bar club, sucking his teeth at his reflection. He’s cleaned up a bit, in himself. He still drinks, but he’s kept his nose out of the blow for the sake of his reconstructed sinuses, and it seems to be doing him the world of good. The stitches from his shooting are barely visible now, blending into the fine lines on his forehead, and when Nigel runs a hand back through his hair, the knotted scar in the base of his hairline is almost unnoticeable.

At the door, his security guys jostle, having some kind of argument. Probably easier if any of them spoke a lick of fucking English.

“What’s the fucking problem?” Nigel asks the ajar door. There’s a murmur about someone wanting to use the bathroom. “Fucking let them in, I’m not the fucking king.”

He goes back to examining his face as the door swings open, the noise from the bar blaring in for a moment before it swings shut again.

“Thanks for uh, letting me use the bathroom, I guess.”

The voice is British. Nigel looks at the newcomer’s reflection, watching him go to the urinals and unzip.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” he mutters. The guy laughs a bit, a high, soft thing. He concentrates on what he’s doing for a moment, then zips up.

“I’ll try not to. To whom do I owe the favour?” He asks, sidling up to the sink alongside Nigel, turning on the taps and helping himself to soap. In the mirror, Nigel can see he’s young, with good bone structure and hair that curls around his ears; against his forehead.

“Never you mind who,” Nigel admonishes, brushing his own hair back again.

“Hard to buy you a drink if I don’t know who you are.”

Nigel meets his eyes this time in the mirror. He straightens up, turning around, and leans in close. With a scant few inches between them, he can see the guy’s pretty blue eyes; long eyelashes. He looks a bit bemused by Nigel’s proximity, but not alarmed.

“I’m no one you want to know, trust me,” he tells the stranger, “now run along before I get the wrong idea.”

“What’s the wrong idea? That I’m after your dick?”

Nigel tilts his head at that.

“That you’re after my neck.”

“Oooh, trust me.” He holds his hands up, stepping back when Nigel crowds him further back towards the wall. “I have no interest in touching necks. Or indeed in anyone touching mine. I’m Adam, by the way. Adam Towers. I’m a writer.”

“What kind of writer?”

“Well, I started out a journalist- now I write screen plays. They seem safer.”

“Safer.”

“People don’t like you when you want to know things about them- which seems to be tonight’s theme, actually, I’ve never struggled just with names though.”

Nigel takes a deep breath, watching him- Adam Towers, what sort of pretty boy prick name is that?

“You sound like someone touched your neck, Adam.”

“They did touch it, and I uh, would rather not have it touched again.”

“You should get some of those guys on the door,” Nigel suggests, with a wry grin, “they happen to be very fucking handy for those sorts of situations.”

“If only I could afford some.”

“You’ll have to write some very good screen plays.”

“Well, I’m getting plenty of ideas. Handsome strangers in bathrooms with mysterious scars, no name.”

Nigel has the brief urge to introduce Adam’s pretty, pale neck to his hands, whether he wants him to or not.

“You look like someone touched your face,” Adam offers, after the silence has laboured.

“I would rather not have it touched again,” Nigel confirms.

“It’s still a very nice face.”

Nigel meets his gaze, finally. Adam is smiling, a bit nervous but still pushy.

“You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

“Curiosity killed the cat and all that.”

“Is it true what they say about satisfaction, then?”

“I’ve yet to find out.”

Nigel wets his lips, and sighs.

“My name is Nigel.”

“Hm, Nigel.” Adam turns the word over in his mouth. One of his eyes squints in disbelief. “You don’t strike me as a Nigel.”

“As far as you’re concerned, I’m a fucking Nigel.” His business name has always been Nigel. Nigel survived a fucking bullet to the head with that name, and it’s made him legendary in all the right circles.

“All right. I like it. Can I buy you a drink, Nigel?”

“You’ve gone to a lot of effort just to say thank you for letting you use the bathroom.”

“I really needed to piss.”

Nigel slams the wall behind him with his fists and Adam jolts.

“Don’t fucking play games with me, kid, what do you want?”

“Jesus Christ…” Adam blinks a few times, eyes widening. “Well, I was going for an interesting encounter, but at this point, just not being brutally murdered would suffice.”

He stares Nigel down, his eyes bright with nervous energy.

“You just needed to piss, that was it?” Nigel confirms.

“I swear to you, I’m here for a drink, on a very boring date- I needed a piss and your handsome friend out there told me to use the ladies’ room- I politely refused, and the rest is history. I had not until now realised this bathroom was ah, yours.”

Nigel leans his weight on the hand by Adam’s ears, deliberately crowding him again.

“This whole city is mine when I treat it right.”

Letting out a shaky breath, Adam smiles. He tips his chin up, their noses practically touching, and Nigel can’t help but examine the long slope of his neck; every angle and sinew of jaw and clavicle.

“I try to avoid clichés in my writing,” Adam breathes, “but ah, London isn’t the only thing that’ll be yours if you treat it right.” His mouth tilts in a coy grin, straddling embarrassed and hopeful.

Nigel feels himself smiling.

 

*

He isn’t gay, if there even is such a thing-  what he is, is an opportunist. He can think of a dozen reasons to fuck anyone at any time, and eleven of those reasons will be ‘because why the fuck not?’.

Nigel can think of two dozen reasons to fuck Adam Towers. He was giddy and beaming at the bar, through several glasses of champagne, and there’s a sharp lilt to his voice and his smile now that Nigel can’t help but find compelling. They’re in Nigel’s car, the city sliding by slick and bright. Nigel feels buzzed; sliding carefully out of control.

“What happened to your date?” He asks, feeling Adam’s warm weight press into him.

“Don’t know.”

“That’s not very polite.”

“Who cares? Clap me in irons.”

“I suspect you might be deeply horrible to know, Adam,” Nigel muses, grinning a bit when Adam kneels up on the seat beside him, hands finding his shoulders under the lapels of his jacket.

“It depends how well you know me. Just for one night, I might be okay.” He leans down, breath hot and sweet, Nigel’s eyes trapped by his throat again. It’s a shame he doesn’t like it being touched, because he’d look lovely with Nigel’s hands around it.

“It’s when things get long term that people try to throttle you, is it?” He mutters, because he can’t help himself. Adam stalls, but then he grins again.

“I think whoever shot you loved you once, Nigel,” he says, his upper class accent making it sound unbearably romantic, “and I assume by now they know better?”

He’s pouring off heat, kneeling over Nigel’s lap. The ceiling of the car makes him curl over, shielding Nigel from the windows, the driver, everything but Adam fucking Towers. Without thinking on it too much, he lets his hand snake up into the back of Adam’s hair and gives a gentle tug.

“You fucking talk too much.”

“So shut me up.”

Nigel does with another tug. They kiss wet and dirty, slow at first but growing in urgency. Adam feels lithe and solid under Nigel’s hands, and he helps himself to his body, hands roving over skin and the fabric of his suit pants. Adam sighs, shifting his arms impatiently to let Nigel rip the jacket off him.

“Be careful with my suit,” he breathes.

“Be quiet, for once,” Nigel mutters, framing his ribs with his hands as he kisses him again. Adam rolls his hips, craning to get closer in the cramped car seat. The solid slide of him is still enough to make Nigel grit noise against his lips.

With Adam’s weight on him and the smell of his skin filling Nigel’s head, he almost forgets where they are, just kissing and touching him, seconds trickling by until he hears the car pull to a stop.

“Get your skinny ass inside,” he grunts, and Adam disentangles himself with a little huff, climbing out. He’s carrying his jacket over one arm, looking small and neat in his waistcoat even though he’s maybe an inch or two shorter than Nigel at most. He follows, smoothing down his suit, breath steaming in the cool night air.

“You look dangerous right now,” Adam tells him, pushing a hand back through his hair, disrupting his curls wildly, “the city shining behind you, like you were cut out of the night.”

“Fucking writers.” Nigel mutters, waving off his driver, letting the security fade into the background as he moves past Adam to open the door. “You look like you’re wearing too much.”

Adam soon remedies that. He slinks upstairs while Nigel opens a couple of beers, and by the time he gets to his room Adam is stripping off his clothes, pale skin flawless and glowing in the semi-dark. The floor to ceiling windows behind him light him up, and Nigel thinks of Christmas morning, of glass-stained windows, of boys and angels.

“Get on the bed,” he mutters, taking a long draw of his beer, “get a rubber out of that drawer.”

Complying, Adam reaches out and pulls Nigel in by his belt, giving it a wary look as he starts to unfasten it. Caught by the look in his eyes, Nigel grips his jaw, thumb gently skimming.

“Hey. Hey. I won’t hurt you unless you want me to, princess,” he mutters. His own hand interrupts Adam’s, quickly unbuckling the belt and throwing it to one side. “There you go. Nothing to be afraid of in here.”

“Except you,” Adam muses, but he’s got his brows cocked again like he knows exactly what he’s done to Nigel in the space of a few short hours. He unzips his pants and pulls Nigel’s cock free of his underwear, taking him from interested to arching with a few teasing flicks of his hand. Nigel watches him rip open the condom foil with his teeth, and he helps him roll it on before letting his fingers slip sticky back into his hair.

“Except me,” he nods, and Adam takes him into the tight warmth of his mouth with a hum.

A mouth is a mouth, Nigel has always found, but Adam’s is exceptionally pretty. Under Nigel’s gaze, his eyes fall closed, a long breath escaping him as Nigel’s thumbs skim over his cheeks. He lets himself be tugged, too, moving with Nigel’s gentle but insistent hands when he’s ready for more.

 Seeing Adam swallowing him down faster and deeper is mouth-watering, from the way his lips stretch to the flicker in his throat when he slips too far. He doesn’t quit, though, and Nigel bares his teeth unconsciously as heat licks up the back of his spine.

“That’s fucking good,” he breathes, the tips of his fingers touching as he cradles Adam’s skull; pulls him just a fraction faster, “fuck, Adam, that’s good.”

He gives an answering whine, his hands gripping white-knuckled at Nigel’s slacks, slowly pulling them further down. His posture changes, his shoulders relaxing and chin tipping as he settles in for more. He comes in to meet every thrust of Nigel’s hips with tight suction, moving with his hands mechanically. Every time Nigel pushes, he goes to him, even when his breath staggers and his brows tighten.

It’s a good fucking blow job. No fucking around, just Adam swallowing him down, gasping and shuddering on his cock like it’s worth every second of discomfort. He looks like he’s hanging on for dear life; like Nigel is pushing him to his limits. Finally he chokes, and Nigel pulls back, mesmerised by the threads of spit that stretch between his cock and Adam’s shining lips.

“Sorry,” Adam rasps, and Nigel shakes his head, shushing him softly.

“You did good, darling,” he assures, voice a low croon. He strokes Adam’s hair and lets him catch his breath, wiping his thumbs over his lashes to spread the tears, “do you want to stop?”

“No,” Adam shakes his head, “no, don’t wanna stop.”

“You’re okay?”

Adam nods now. His eyes shine but  they’re unfocused, and it’s a look Nigel recognises from good porn and good memories; a sort of soft-lidded craving for contact, guidance. His pale shoulders glow, skin kissed by shadow and colour in the neon darkness. His cheek turns into Nigel’s warm palm, and he sighs like he’s finally calm again.

Licking his lips, Nigel watches him refocus on his cock, humming his approval when Adam slips both hands up to cover the root, spreading wetness as he leans in to lick under the crown. Even through the rubber it feels like heaven.

“Fucking hell,” Nigel mutters, fanning his fingers through his hair again. Adam’s smiling now, drawing both hands up in a smooth, tight squeeze. His lips purse and he sucks delicately at the tip.

“Love your cock,” he murmurs, “knew I would.”

“It loves you,” Nigel’s lip curls in a lopsided grin. Adam’s tongue whirls around the tip, firm and fast, but Nigel can’t help missing the enveloping heat of his throat again. He touches Adam’s cheek, fingertips anchoring under Adam’s jaw, questioning.

Adam opens his mouth up immediately and loosens his fingers. Nigel tugs him back onto his cock, hips shaking a bit with the urge to fuck into slippery heat. His breath is shuddering out as he rocks his hips, waiting for Adam to settle again before he moves in earnest.

“Okay?” He checks.

“Mm.”

A thumbnail flicks against the vein at the base of his cock, making him grunt and jolt forward.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He grips at his jaw more securely, guiding him back into the rhythm from before: squeezing, swallowing strokes and the wet gulp of Adam’s throat. Before long he can’t hold back the vocal breaths that burst out of him. Adam swallows again, throat convulsing, and Nigel pulls him back as his stomach swoops.

“Stop. I want to fuck you. Let me fuck you, Adam.”

Adam just breathes hard, lips glistening and cheeks flush. Nigel could easily just come to the sight of him like this if he says no, drooling and sweat-misted.

“I wanna go on top,” he gasps instead. Nigel thinks he might just be fucking perfect aside from his personality.

“Whatever the fuck you want,” he promises, “within reason.”

“Come here.” Adam just pulls him to the bed, helping him out of his shoes and jacket with fumbling hands.

“Fuck,” Nigel mumbles, when his buttons prove challenging, “fuck-”

“Leave them. Just…” Adam tuts, hitching himself over Nigel’s lap and pushing him down into the pillows. They shift together, unsynchronised and jerky, until Nigel feels less likely to fall off the bed.

“This is a fucking disaster,” he snorts.

“You’re a fucking disaster. Where’s the lube?”

“In the drawer where you found the skin, where do you think?”

While he gets it, Adam takes a sip of his beer, no doubt rinsing the taste of latex from his mouth.

“Do you fuck a lot of guys, Nigel?”

“I fuck a lot of everything.”

“That’s very reassuring.” He hands over the lube and Nigel cracks the lid, looking up at the smooth, long lines of Adam’s thighs, sloping up into sharp hip bones; a pretty, flushed cock. In the gloaming, against the dark sheets with his brain slow with booze, Adam is all Nigel can see, his skin soft and endless. Nigel manhandles him closer, slick fingers wandering between his thighs.

“Oh, god.” His voice breaks a bit, and Nigel feels him grip his shirt as he starts to tease against his hole, opening him up with a gentle, rubbing pressure. “Nigel- ye-es…”

His lovely throat is bared again, body moving in twitching rocks as Nigel’s fingers work deeper inside him. He feels overwhelmingly tight, and the damp smear of his cock is trapped against Nigel’s arm and the fabric of his shirt, the air between them thick. When Adam dips his head, Nigel kisses him deep, and for a few long minutes all he can do is kiss him and finger him and feel him pushing down, until there’s no more space between them and his fingers are sliding in soft and easy.

“Nigel, now,” Adam groans, hips shuddering. They fumble for the lube again, trading swears, and finally Adam slicks them both generously once more before he lets Nigel steer him into position.

He takes his cock beautifully, sinking down with a gorgeous, shuddering cry that sends heat right to Nigel’s balls. They don’t talk now, just move, a mutual sort of need creeping into their actions. The first few strokes are hesitant, finding ground, and then Adam grips at the headboard and shoves down with a whimper like he’s finally found just the right spot.

It knocks the breath out of Nigel, rendering him momentarily thoughtless as his hips jolt up, dazed and heat-seeking. Adam is grinning when he meets his gaze, tongue trapped between his teeth as his torso undulates with the swaying motions of his hips.

“I love your cock,” he repeats, breathless. Nigel hitches himself up against the pillows to get him closer, hands cupping Adam’s hips to guide him into a more fluid rhythm. Their foreheads touching, lips brushing, everything becomes sweat-slick and blurred. Nigel could die like this, balls deep in tight heat, eyes full of the sight of Adam’s pleasure.

One of Adam’s hands drops, fingers pushing up under the hem of Nigel’s half-unbuttoned shirt. He scratches his nails gently against hair and muscle, groaning at the sharp buck it triggers.

“Fucking hell,” Nigel grunts. Feeling constrained by his clothes, by Adam’s weight- it only adds to how much he wants this.

“Let me ride you,” Adam murmurs, giving an anchoring wriggle of his hips,  “just- for a moment.”

He’s a torturously good fuck, rolling his hips in long circles, dragging rough moans out of Nigel with every shivering clench. His nails dig into Nigel’s stomach, smooth chest heaving in time with the demanding pace he sets.

“Adam,” Nigel grasps at his hair again, trying to find purchase to thrust up, chasing the grip of his body. Something clicks and changes and then they’re moving together, and all the words in Nigel’s head are gone- no English, no Romanian, just the crashing sound of the ocean and the singing of his pulse. This is pure fucking, urgent and animal. Nigel barely remembers to breathe as Adam pulses himself down on his cock, crying out on every drag.

Incalescence swells slowly in the base of Nigel’s spine, pooling out like molten light. His lungs feel fit to burst, muscles searing, but it’s perfect alongside Adam’s shivering tightness. Cupping his jaw and nape, Nigel fucks him in earnest, burying his face against Adam’s shoulder as he gropes to get a hand on his cock. He shudders at the contact, bridging into Nigel’s palm.

“Yes- _fuck- yes—_ ”

Drawing almost unbearably tighter, his cock slick and hot in Nigel’s hand, it’s the first time Adam’s looked out of control to him, tipping his head back and panting long and unschooled as they grind and rut and stroke. Then his stomach creases and Nigel tightens his fist, unable to do anything but let Adam work himself to orgasm with the friction of their bodies. When it starts, Nigel feels every pulse echoed as Adam’s hole flutters around his cock; the twitch of him spilling over his fingers.  With just the sound he makes and the greedy, desperate way he rides it out, Nigel is coming too, jaw going slack as his hips spasm.

“ _Fuck._ ”

Gradually, they slide into stillness. Adam is still panting hard, narrow shoulders shaking, but when Nigel finds his gaze he’s wearing that coy grin again.

“You practically fucked my eyes crossed,” he huffs, voice taking on the timbre of laughter. Almost absently, he starts to undo Nigel’s remaining shirt buttons, smiling at the messy smear of white on the dark fabric. “Shit, your shirt.”

“Fuck my shirt.”

“All right.” Still laughing, he leans down to press a kiss to the protruding angle of Nigel’s ribs. His hands smooth over his skin, fingertips feeling out the edges of scars and muscles. Nigel watches him, and then gently shifts.

“Let me clean up, princess.”

“All right. Come back naked.”

Shaking his head, Nigel carefully extricates himself and stands, stripping off the condom and his crumpled pants as he walks to the en suite.

“Already telling me what to fucking do.”

He takes a piss, washes his hands, his face, and then Adam slinks up behind him with a towel, handing it over as he takes Nigel’s place in front of the mirror.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks, helping himself to a washcloth.

“I think I can stand you for another few hours before I start to consider a garrote. What about you?”

“Well, hopefully you don’t have any guns lying around.”

“Not tonight.”

“All right. I think we should be safe then.” Adam’s reflection smiles at him. Nigel smiles back.

“Worth the risk. Come on.”

They return to bed, Nigel stretching out long to accept Adam’s weight against his flank, cheek tucked into his shoulder. He feels surprised by the ease of it, Adam’s arm warm across his waist, his breath on his neck.

“That was good.”

“It was good,” Nigel agrees, voice low. He gives Adam a squeeze to indicate he should be quiet. He manages it for at least a few moments.

“It’s gonna make a great story,” he whispers, nose nudging Nigel’s jaw.

"Maybe you can finally afford some security, then."

"Maybe. I'm thinking it'll be a best seller."

“Shh.”

“It is. Very mysterious. I could probably write you into a thriller. How do you feel about an interview? There’s such a great angle in a gangster with a tragic past.”

“Adam.”

“Nigel.”

“Stop fucking talking.”

Adam does, but Nigel can feel his smile against his skin as he drifts off to sleep.

 

 


End file.
